When She Came Home

by Drusilla Campbell

  The long, narrow room was floored in vinyl, a gray marble design that could not conceal the wear of hundreds of pairs of boots. The walls were a similar nondescript color, but she smelled fresh paint. At one corner there was a bulletin board with nothing posted on it. Opposite a line of windows faced the street where Frankie’s car was parked. Off-white plastic vertical blinds laid stripes of blue neon across a dozen metal folding chairs arranged in the approximation of a circle. Faces turned and a dozen pairs of eyes stared at her.

  She didn’t see Domino. One man, tall and very thin, raised his hand and beckoned her to join the group.

  “Sorry. I must have the wrong room.”

  She ducked back and closed the door. For a moment she stood, leaning against the building while she waited for her pulse to stop racing. She hurried along the covered walkway, out, and across the street. Fumbling for her keys, she looked up the street and saw Domino’s van parked just inside an alley, almost out of sight. It hadn’t been there when Frankie went inside.

  Domino had a pillow rolled between her neck and the car’s door. Frankie knocked on the window, startling her. Domino pressed a finger against her lips for quiet and carefully opened the van door and stepped out into the street. The door clicked softly as she closed it.

  “Candy’s asleep,” she said. “We spent the whole day at the beach. She’s beat.”

  “I’ve been looking all over for you.” Frankie hugged her. “And Glory’s been driving me bat-shit asking when she’ll see Candace again. Are you guys okay?”

  “Been better.” Domino rubbed her upper arms.

  “Let’s sit in my car. It’s chilly out here. We’ll be able to see the van.” They walked back to the Nissan and got in. Frankie turned on the heat. Domino faced her directly. Her right temple was bruised and swollen up into her hairline.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Domino half smiled. “Easy, girl, don’t get your panties in a bind.”

  “Did Jason do that? Have you seen a doctor?”

  “What you don’t know about real life would fill an encyclopedia.” Domino laughed darkly. “There’s nothing I can do about this except live with it.”

  Frankie had been bruised and battered playing soccer, but there was always a doctor or EMT on the sidelines to check out any injury. She felt embarrassed and ridiculously pampered.

  “How’d he find you?”

  “I don’t know. Luck. Perseverance. Whatever. He showed up at Jack in the Box the other night and started in, making a scene, threatening me.”

  “Tell me you called the police. A restraining order—”

  “Frankie, a piece of paper from a judge won’t stop him if he wants to see me.”

  “How did you ever hook up with a guy like that?”

  “You don’t know him. You don’t know what he was like back in the day. In high school he was so incredibly gorgeous and sexy. And such a gentleman. There was a kind of elegance in him.” She shook her head as if she did not quite believe her own memory. “All the other guys were always trying to see how far they could get but he got me by just being sweet and mannerly. You know how it is.”

  Actually Frankie didn’t know. Tall and big boned, with hands that could grab a soccer ball out of the air and heave it halfway down the field, she just wasn’t the kind of woman men hit on. Even on FOB Redline, where men vastly outnumbered women, the men of the Marine Corps had been generally respectful, soldiers a bit less so. There had been plenty of innuendo from both sides, of course. All the women got that and to survive life in the service they learned to ignore most of it. Some of the officers knew she was the General’s daughter and challenged her to prove she was worthy of respect. This was how the game was played, being male or female made little difference. She earned respect by following orders, working hard, and by not asking or expecting favors on account of being a woman or a Byrne. It helped that leadership came naturally to her. Ironically her biggest problem had been other women. Many distrusted her at first, but she had played sports all her life and this was an advantage. She knew how to lead, but she was essentially a team player and when called upon to do so, she could follow. In time most of the women she’d met in the service came around to liking her well enough.

  Unlike Frankie, Domino had been a sexual target all her life, starting at age ten with the older brother of her best friend. When it happened she hit him in the shin with a Rollerblade and he never troubled her again. But he paid her back by telling tales, giving her a rep she did not deserve but never entirely lived down. It was not surprising that she attracted attention, for she was beautiful in a dark-eyed, tangle-haired way. A very unlikely Lutheran from Kansas, Frankie always thought.

  “If I call the police, they’ll find out Jason has a record and almost for sure, he’ll go to jail. Jail’s bad for him. It messes with his head. He’s always worse after they lock him up.”

  Until she met Domino Frankie had thought that divorce meant the end of love. Now she understood that sometimes it just meant survival.

  “I wish you’d let me give you some money so you and Candace could get a place.”

  “I told you, I don’t want to be indebted. Not to you or anyone.”

  “It’d be a loan. And if you don’t pay me back, I promise I’ll send Guido after you. Think what a difference a couple of thousand dollars would make in your life. You could move somewhere Jason wouldn’t find you, where the cost of living isn’t so ridiculously high.”

  “I’m not giving away what I want. Candace is going to grow up living near the beach.”

  Frankie could not comprehend Domino’s resistance to help, the need she had to stand alone and go her own way, never mind how hard.

  “Friends help each other.”

  “If you don’t shut up, I’m outa here.” She sounded like she meant it.

  The moment was briefly awkward but it passed.

  “I went into the meeting,” Frankie said. “For about two seconds. I thought you’d be there.”

  “Usually, yeah, but with Jason around, I didn’t want to leave Candy asleep in the van. There’s a guy inside, though, a friend of mine. I’m waiting for him.”

  “What kind of friend?”

  Domino laughed. “What’re you, my mother? He’s as old as my dad. He knows a woman who rents out rooms. She’s picky though, wants to check me out. We’re going over to meet her.”

  “So late? You really trust this guy? Does he have a phone you can borrow? Use it to call me.”

  “I know men, Frankie. Dekker’s cool. Jason’s the one I have to worry about.”

  Chapter 14

  Glory said, “But what if I don’t want to play soccer?”

  “It’s just an idea, honey.”

  Frankie watched as her daughter clomped noisily to the top of the aluminum tip-and-roll bleachers set up at the edge of the soccer field. At the far end a pair of well-dressed women turned to see who was making so much noise. Frankie supposed they were mothers come to watch their daughters practice. She smiled and lifted her hand in greeting.

  “Just because you were some kind of superstar—”

  “That’s not the point. This isn’t about me.”

  Glory made an oh yeah kind of sound and leaned against the bleacher back, her arms folded across her chest. Down on the field Gina Calvello was putting the senior school team, twenty or so girls in white tees and blue shorts, through speed drills. Gina had been in her last year at Arcadia when Frankie, only a sixth grader, had begun practicing with the senior school team. Gina and her friends had resented her and for weeks made her life miserable until even they had to admit that she was just as good at the game as most of them despite her youth. Earlier in the week while Frankie was waiting for Glory after school, she’d seen Gina. They had reminisced a bit and Gina invited her to watch the team practice.

  “She’s mean,” Glory said.

  “Gina?”

  “She’s a lesbian.”

  “Glory! Where do you get that stuff?”

/>   She shrugged.

  “Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. But it’s none of your business.” When had every conversation with Glory become a challenge? “Is that what you and your friends talk about? Sex?”

  “I don’t have any friends. I just heard someone say it.”

  “Do you even know what it means?”

  “No. Sorta.”

  Frankie took a deep breath. “Do you want me to explain?”

  Glory made a face, squinting her eyes and wrinkling her nose. “Gross, Mom.”

  She was, after all, only eight.

  On the far end of the bleachers the two mothers were joined by another and a moment later two more. Each new arrival glanced up at Frankie and Glory. One of them could come up and introduced herself. Would it happen if she were not wearing camouflage fatigues?

  “Can we go now?”

  “We just got here.”

  “They’re looking at you,” Glory said.

  “They see the uniform, not me.”

  “You’re wearing cammies! You look like you just got out of bed.”

  “You know I work in these, we all do.”

  “They can tell you’re a Marine.”

  “So? What’s wrong with that?”

  Glory sighed and rolled her eyes.

  If this was what raising an eight-year-old was like, how would Frankie manage a teenager? Life was going too fast for her. She was like one of the girls on the field, sprinting as though her life depended on it.

  “I’m bored.”

  “Watch what’s going on. You might enjoy it.”

  “They’re not playing a game.”

  “Not yet, but they will.”

  “I told you—”

  “If you don’t want to play soccer, is there another sport that interests you? Basketball, maybe?”

  “I’m not a giant like you, Mom.”

  “What about volleyball then? Gina says they’ve got a good team here.”

  “I don’t want to play on a team.”

  “It’s fun. You learn to cooperate—”

  “I already know how.”

  “—and it’s a great way to make friends.”

  “Is this about Colette? Is this about that?”

  “Dad and I want you to have a good time in school, Glory. That’s all it’s about.”

  “I wanna surf. Isn’t that a sport?”

  “What about softball? I used to love—What’s the matter?”

  Glory had dropped her head to her knees and appeared to be making herself as small as possible.

  “It’s her.”

  Three girls Glory’s age paraded in front of the bleachers, walking in the direction of the gathered mothers. The dark-haired girl in the middle was talking and the other two were listening. Frankie knew immediately that this was Colette.

  “Now can we go?”

  “It’s your right to sit up here and watch the practice. Just act like you don’t see them.”

  “Colette’s sister’s one of the forwards. Her name’s Solange, but they call her Solli.”

  “Is that why you don’t want to play?”

  The three girls sat several seats higher than the mothers. The two on the outside leaned toward Colette, two fair heads and the dark one in the middle. Frankie heard them laughing.

  “Ignore them.” Saying this, making it sound easy, Frankie knew it was anything but. The gossipy girls and their well-dressed mothers made her feel oversized and plain, just as she had felt when she was Glory’s age, before she found her place in sports and music and study. She wanted to leave the soccer field almost as much as Glory, but it would look like a retreat, as if they’d been intimidated into leaving. Frankie wouldn’t give the girls and their mothers that satisfaction. So they were stuck.

  “They aren’t going to run us out of here, Glory. Just talk to me as if we’re the only people here. Act like you’re having a good time.”

  “As if.”

  “Don’t knock it, Glory. Learning to pretend is one of the secrets of life. When I was in Iraq, in the beginning especially, we’d go out in convoy and I was really scared but I acted as if I wasn’t. Tried to anyway. Sometimes I even managed to convince myself.”

  She had Glory’s attention now and to prolong the moment, she could tell her more about Iraq. But was it appropriate—even if she smoothed the edges of her experience, sanded the rough spots, and left out the craziness—to tell Iraq war stories to an eight-year-old? In the end her instinct to protect Glory won out at the price of losing the moment.

  “We’re going to sit here and pretend we’re having a good time. You aren’t, I know. But why share that with them? It’s not their business. They don’t matter, Glory.”

  “They’re talking about you too, you know.”

  “I know.”

  And she could guess what they were saying.

  Frankie only half believed the civilians who said they opposed the Iraqi war, but fell all over themselves supporting the troops. It was the politically correct position to take, just as its opposite had been during the Vietnam years. She knew that the mothers in the bleachers took one look at a woman in uniform, cammies or dress, it didn’t matter, and made assumptions about the kind of person wearing it. None of them good.

  She asked, “What do you think they’re saying?”

  “You know.”

  “Tell me, honey.” She nudged her gently. “I’m a Marine. I can take it.”

  “Colette says you have to be stupid to want to fight in a war.”

  “Honey, no one wants to fight. But sometimes it has to happen.”

  “She says Marines are stupid.”

  This made Frankie laugh. “You want to know a secret?”

  Glory nodded tentatively.

  “One or two of them are.”

  They stayed another twenty minutes, pretending to enjoy themselves, and after a while they did—as much as was possible for an unhappy eight-year-old and her mother, deep in enemy territory. Frankie pointed out what Gina and her coaching assistants were doing, explained the purpose of the drills. The girls divided into teams for a practice game.

  “That’s Solli. The one with the bandage on her leg.”

  “She’s too aggressive,” Frankie said when she had watched a few moments. “You make errors if you’re all the time pushing, pushing, pushing. She doesn’t have any sense of strategy and she’s a ball hog.”

  When they were leaving Gina jogged off the field and walked them to the parking lot. Frankie mentioned Solli.

  Gina waited to answer until Glory was in the car. “Solli’s a pain in the ass and her mother’s worse. Remember how much fun soccer was, back in the day? It’s not that way now. You wouldn’t believe the level of competition and the mothers are in it up to the roots of their perfectly colored hair.”

  “I thought Glory’d want to play but she’s not interested at all.”

  “How old is she? Third grade, right? If she hasn’t been playing for at least two years already, she’ll never catch up.”

  “But she needs something to kick or hit.”

  “Don’t we all?” Gina laughed. “My niece is into kickboxing. Ten years old and you don’t want to mess with her.”

  Chapter 15

  A few nights later Frankie and Rick left Glory with the General and Maryanne so they could have a night out together. At dinner Frankie described Glory’s visit to a gym to observe a kickboxing class made up of elementary school girls, all doing their best to look and sound fierce. Glory had been interested enough to give it a try, six classes to start with. Over hamburgers and microbrew beers, the laughter came easily and their quick back-and-forth conversation felt familiar and comforting. There were times during the evening when Frankie felt almost normal.

  But after the movie, walking back to their car three flights down in the parking garage, she broke out in a sweat in the echoing stairwell. She worried who might be coming up or down the stairs, and each of her senses sprang to alert. Rick wanted to talk about the parts
of the movie that had moved him and didn’t notice how uncomfortable she was. He stopped on a landing to make a point.

  “When the guy got left on the platform, when his brother took off? That long, slow shot of the train pulling out of the station? It was amazing, the way it sustained.” She didn’t answer him. “You didn’t see it, did you? You were asleep.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “I teared up,” he said. “I really felt for that guy.”

  “It was sad, yeah.” She started down the stairs. He pulled her back.

  “You didn’t even see it.”

  A security door clanged, one floor up.

  “Can’t we talk about this in the car? I don’t like this place.”

  At the sound of footsteps and murmuring voices, Frankie held her breath and stepped back into the corner of the landing.

  “Honey, what’s the matter?”

  She dropped to a crouch and Rick, suddenly aware of what was happening to her, jerked her up into his arms and held her. Frankie had the sensation of ants crawling across her back, a thousand legs, thin as hairs.

  “Breathe, baby. In and out, feel my breath. Follow my breath.”

  A second later a pair of men with friendly faces came down the stairs, talking animatedly. They smiled when they saw the couple embracing in the privacy of the stairwell, said hello, and passed. Another security door clanged on the lower level and in the stairwell it was quiet again; but Rick didn’t let go of her.

  He pressed his cheek against her hair. “Breathe with me, stay with me, Frankie. You’re safe.”

  Driving home on Washington Street she tried to make conversation but the earlier mood had evaporated. She saw the sign for Jack in the Box ahead on the right.

  “Turn here,” she said impulsively. “Let’s see if Domino’s working. You can meet her.”

  “It’s late.”

  “You’re always saying you want to meet her. Come on, it won’t take long. I promise.” She pointed at a parking place and was out of the car before he pulled on the emergency brake. “I’ll be right back.”

  Inside there was no one in line and the manager was the only person working. His moist brown eyes had seen everything and been disappointed by most of it.